


postcode envy

by negi



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Brief mention of prostitution, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Spanking, brief mention of family issues, using teasing and manipulation to stop your friend from doing something stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 19:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15540882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negi/pseuds/negi
Summary: Doyoung spreads open the yellow construction paper kept together by about 50 staples. “I want you to wear it,” he repeats. He steps forward and places the crown on Taeyong’s head, pushing it down just enough so it’ll stay put. He fixes Taeyong’s hair, brings a finger to his chin, and nudges his head up. “You want to be the big, bad king, don’t you?”





	postcode envy

**Author's Note:**

> **disclaimer:** the way doyoung handles the situation in this fic could be read as manipulative, so if that makes you uncomfortable you might not want to read it. i personally think that while it's not necessarily _healthy_ , it's what works for dotae's specific lives. hmm...
> 
> title from lorde - royals

Doyoung’s nose wrinkles harder in disgust than usual as he walks through the poorly lit hall of Taeyong’s cheap apartment building. Today, accompanying cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and unnervingly sticky spots staining the floor, the smell of fresh cigarette smoke wafts through the musty air, and it grows stronger the closer he gets to Taeyong’s unit. There are men talking loudly inside, though Doyoung can’t make out what they’re saying. He clicks his tongue in annoyance and raps his knuckles on the door three times, quick yet firm, and the unfamiliar voices stop. A moment later and Taeyong is answering the door with a cold expression, then he relaxes and pulls Doyoung through the threshold.

“Oh, it’s just you,” he says.

“Just?” Doyoung asks, dropping his backpack to the floor with an unceremonious _thump._ Fortunately, the inside of Taeyong’s home is well-kept and as nice as a place in this area can be. It usually smells better, too.

“You know my landlord’s a dick,” Taeyong says with a shrug. “Thought you might be him.”

Doyoung’s eyes roam around the small studio, sweeping past the sad excuse of a kitchen and landing in the living room, where three men he’s never seen before are taking up the entire second-hand couch and cigarette butts fill a ceramic bowl on the coffee table. He made that bowl in middle school pottery.

“Hey, T.Y.,” one of the men calls, looking Doyoung over with sunken eyes. “Who’s the class president?”

A second man grunts as he lights another cigarette. “Someone like him don’t belong here right now.”

Doyoung’s gaze travels back to Taeyong and he raises an eyebrow. Taeyong puts a hand on Doyoung’s arm, gripping just so - enough for Doyoung to get the message. _Don’t act up._

“This is Donghyun, a friend of mine,” Taeyong says, leading Doyoung into the living room. “Don’t let the uniform fool you; he’s cool. He’s one of those kids whose brains work different from how teachers think you should be - you know about that?”

The second man lets out a long sigh, smoke drifting in nasty tendrils towards Doyoung’s face. “Yeah, I think I heard of that shit.”

“He’s smart, but no one thinks he’s smart,” Taeyong continues. “Never really meshed with school and other students. He won’t be a problem.”

The third man finally speaks up, and he seems a little less thick headed than the other two. “So if you ain’t respected at school, how come you’re still puttin’ on that clown costume and going?” he asks. It almost makes Doyoung laugh, the fact that he’s being profiled as a picture perfect honor student who would run home crying after seeing some big, scary guys with tattoos.

Instead, he remains calm, if not a little suspicious himself. “My parents want me to finish,” he says. “Gotta make Mom happy, and all.”

The man maintains eye contact with Doyoung for a few more seconds before nodding and pointing his finger at him. “Your mama’s important,” he says.

Doyoung gives him a tight lipped smile. “Indeed.”

Taeyong, still holding onto Doyoung’s arm, pulls his phone from his pocket with his free hand and holds it up. “I got your numbers. So we good?”

The not-so-dense third man stands from the couch, taking his time stretching and adjusting his clothes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re kickin’ us out,” he says, running a hand over the stubble on his face. Still, he motions for the other men to get up too. “But yeah, we’re good. You call us by next week if you’re down or else we’ll find someone else.” He purposely bumps against Doyoung’s shoulder as he walks to the door and Doyoung has to clench his teeth to stop himself from giving the man a sickeningly sweet goodbye laced with all the sarcastic, piece-of-shit malice a teenager can muster.

Taeyong finally releases his grip on Doyoung and sets his phone on the table with a clatter when the door shuts behind his strange visitors, but he doesn't totally relax. He knows what's coming.

Doyoung snatches his precious, ugly, handmade bowl from the table and holds it out in front of Taeyong expectantly, and Taeyong takes it to the kitchen to get it out of Doyoung's sight while he waits for the butts to fully extinguish. Doyoung watches him as he sits himself in the single cushioned chair adjacent to the couch, not wanting to rest in a spot where he can still feel the body heat of some clearly low-ranking street scum. “Recycle those later,” he says. “There's a system for it now. That shit kills the environment.”

Taeyong has no choice but to sit on the couch. “How the fuck do you recycle cigs?”

“Look it up,” Doyoung says back. He crosses his legs and waits for the more interesting conversation to start.

Finally, Taeyong bites. “Those guys found me through my old boss. They want me to be a sort of _talent scout_ for their gangs.”

“Why you?” Doyoung asks. “You’ve never been in a gang.”

Taeyong shrugs. “I’ve fucked wannabe delinquents. I got sent to hideouts all the time. I know how to spot boys who are willing to break some rules and I know where to find them.” He notices Doyoung’s jaw tighten and he sighs. “Relax. It’s nothing dangerous. I’m not gonna be involved in whatever they decide to do.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “Not dangerous, huh?”

“No,” Taeyong says.

Doyoung rests an elbow on the chair’s armrest and leans his head in his hand. “So you gave them my brother’s name instead of mine because…?”

Taeyong’s eyes begin to roam as he’s cornered. “I just didn’t want them showing up at your school or something,” he says, waving a hand in Doyoung’s direction. “You’re welcome.”

Doyoung snorts. “Am I supposed to thank you?” he asks. “You practically dragged me inside so you wouldn’t be so scared.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Taeyong snaps, head whipping back around. He tries to stare Doyoung down, but Doyoung’s eyes are as wide and dominating as ever. “I don’t need you to be here all the time-- You’re the one who keeps coming to my house every day!”

Doyoung sits back in his chair and shrugs casually. “Okay, I’ll stop coming then.”

_“Fine.”_

“Fine.”

Taeyong huffs and pushes himself up from the couch. He stalks into the kitchen and throws the cigarette butts away, purposely not recycling them, and Doyoung cracks a smile at the power move. He washes the bowl clean and sets it aside to dry, then he busies himself with cooking so he doesn’t have to go back into the living room just yet. Doyoung lets him, knowing that food has always been a comfort for Taeyong ever since he had to start fending for himself.

From the sound of Taeyong’s furious chopping, he’s making something more intricate than their typical leftover convenience store stir fry. Doyoung takes out his phone and taps around the screen mindlessly, going from games to the text thread with his brother to unopened emails from school that he takes satisfaction in trashing one by one. He checks a news article about a trending IQ question that’s been stumping participants across the nation and laughs under his breath at how simple it is. He contemplates taking the entire internet test, but he gets bored four questions in and tosses his phone onto the coffee table near Taeyong's. Attention now unoccupied, he busies himself with watching Taeyong cook through the half wall of the kitchen.

“Your hair is still fried as shit,” he says.

Taeyong jolts at the sudden noise interrupting his focused flow and curses when he nicks a finger. His knife clatters when it drops onto the cutting board and he glares at Doyoung as he sucks on the bleeding pinky. He disappears into the bathroom and Doyoung knows not to follow.

As the sound of a faucet spitting out water in choppy bursts fills the room, Doyoung gets up and enters the kitchen, looking over the reject vegetables Taeyong was able to get from the farmer’s market that week. Nothing’s really wrong with them - they’re just ugly and therefore unsellable. It’s stupid and shallow, but if other peoples’ produce vanity allows his friend to eat well for cheap, Doyoung isn’t complaining. He washes the knife that Taeyong was using and cuts the rest of the two-headed carrots by the time Taeyong returns, pinky wrapped in a Hello Kitty band-aid. Doyoung tries to hold back a snort.

“It was a free promo gift at the market,” Taeyong snaps, swiping the knife from Doyoung. “Now get out.”

Doyoung reaches for the knife again. “You’ll get your cut wet, just let me--”

“The kitchen is mine,” Taeyong says abruptly.

Doyoung holds his hands up defensively and concedes, backing out of the kitchen and flopping into the living room chair again. Taeyong is still tense from his meeting with those men - Doyoung can see the tightness in his shoulders a room away. He drums his fingers on an armrest. The job Taeyong was offered shouldn’t be dangerous, but there are no rules in that world and Taeyong is very aware of it. He’s lived in and out of that world ever since his family decided they wanted nothing to do with him, so Doyoung is pretty sure he knows the one reason why Taeyong would sign on to the task anyway and he hates it.

Taeyong wordlessly brings handmade kimbap over to the table and sets the dish down just a little too loudly.

“How much are they gonna pay you?” Doyoung asks.

“Enough,” Taeyong says shortly, and yeah, it’s what Doyoung expected.

Doyoung’s eyes narrow for a second before his expression turns passive again. He reaches forward and takes a roll with his fingers. “You’re making _enough_ at the pet store.”

Taeyong is still standing, and Doyoung sees through the physical attempt at keeping the upper hand. “Yeah, because I want to clean up after dog groomers for the rest of my life,” he laughs humorlessly.

Doyoung takes his time chewing, then swallows. He still thinks that Taeyong should go into the restaurant business, but his friend was never taught to appreciate his own talents. The dimple at the corner of Doyoung’s mouth becomes prominent when his lips curl up. “So, what, you’re planning to work with street gangs for the rest of your life?”

“Maybe I am,” Taeyong shoots back. “Maybe one day it’ll be my turn to be in charge.”

Doyoung can’t help the sardonic laugh that bubbles out of his throat. “You?” he asks.

“What _about_ me?” Taeyong challenges.

Doyoung stares up at Taeyong and sees fire in his eyes, but it’s not this hot, determined passion he’s pretending it is. It’s fear burning him from the inside and Doyoung needs to put it out, even if Taeyong thinks that believing hard enough can make him fireproof. Even if it means dismantling Taeyong’s confidence for his own good.

“Don’t eat my food if you’re gonna be an ass,” Taeyong mutters, reaching down to take back the plate between them, but Doyoung grabs Taeyong’s wrist, causing him to lose his grip and some kimbap to roll onto the table. “What the hell? Let go.”

Doyoung stands from his chair and pulls Taeyong close. “You’re right,” he says, and Taeyong’s shocked expression is quite valid because Doyoung never admits to being wrong. “It’s your life, and if this is the choice you want to make then so be it. You’re the adult here, after all.” He leans in and kisses Taeyong before his friend, who knows him so well, can recognize the condescending tone of his last few words. He feels Taeyong grab at his shirt and deepen the kiss but it isn’t time yet - Taeyong isn’t pliable enough. He stops the kiss and gently brushes hair from Taeyong’s face. “Why don’t you take a shower?” he suggests.

As expected, Taeyong senses that Doyoung isn’t merely concerned about his personal hygiene. “What are you up to?” he asks.

Doyoung puts a hand to his chest. “I’m just looking out for you,” he says. “You’re stressed because of those _apes_ stopping by, so you should take some time to relax. Also, it stinks in here. You know I hate when you smell like smoke.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes but a nice, steamy shower does sound enticing. “Fine,” he mumbles. “Make yourself useful and clean up the kitchen.”

Doyoung salutes lazily and says with a grin, “Sure thing, boss.”

Taeyong gives Doyoung a look before heading into his bedroom for clean clothes, and glances at him again as he crosses the hall to get to the bathroom. He quickly decides that a shower is more important than his friend acting strange, though, and soon the sound of sputtering water takes over the apartment again.

Doyoung does clean the kitchen, but in a hurry. Afterwards, he slips into Taeyong’s bedroom, opening windows along the way to air the place out, and begins searching through his drawers. He knows what he wants is in this room - the question is just where. _‘He wouldn’t have thrown it out.’_ The shower turns off and Doyoung looks in the direction of the bathroom before rummaging in a box of old birthday and Christmas cards (all from himself and a few other friends Taeyong managed to keep over the years). He finds what he was looking for just as Taeyong comes back into the bedroom in small, cotton shorts with an oversized T-shirt that nearly covers them altogether.

Taeyong clears his throat, drawing Doyoung’s attention up from his bare legs. “What are you doing?” he asks as he towels off his wet hair.

Doyoung stands and holds up a paper crown. “Remember this?” he asks. “I made it for you back when we used to play make-believe. It actually looks a lot better than I expected. I’m pretty talented.”

“Spit it out, Doyoung,” Taeyong sighs. He drops his towel into a laundry basket. “It’s never something simple with you, is it…”

Doyoung smiles widely. “I want you to wear it,” he says.

Taeyong snorts. “What?”

Doyoung spreads open the yellow construction paper kept together by about 50 staples. “I want you to wear it,” he repeats. He steps forward and places the crown on Taeyong’s head, pushing it down just enough so it’ll stay put. He fixes Taeyong’s hair, brings a finger to his chin, and nudges his head up. “You want to be the big, bad king, don’t you?”

Taeyong’s eyes widen before they resettle into an annoyed glare. “So that’s what this is about,” he says. He pushes Doyoung’s hand away and reaches up to take off the crown. “God, Doyoung, you’re insufferable--”

_“Don’t.”_

Taeyong freezes involuntarily at the pure commanding tone of Doyoung’s voice, but just for a moment before he gets his wits about him again. “What the hell, Doyoung,” he says, but his second attempt at removing the crown results in Doyoung gripping his forearms and trapping him against a wall. The crown stays put.

“You want to be the boss,” Doyoung says, “so play the role. And it is a role, isn’t it, _hyung?_ This toughness you show to people with your cold, scary mask. It’s not real. But once you’re in charge, that’s all you can ever be. Is that what you want?”

“I know what it’s like out there,” Taeyong growls. “I can handle it.”

“Can you?” Doyoung asks, pressing closer, knee sliding between Taeyong’s legs. “You’re soft. You’re gentle. You think of yourself as one step away from a hardened criminal but that’s never what you were and it’s never what you will be.”

“Shut up,” Taeyong breathes through his teeth.

“Is that the best you got?” Doyoung asks, appearing quite unimpressed. “I don’t know how you plan to lead rowdy teenagers and surly old men with a kitten hiss like that.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” Taeyong says. He moves his head in an attempt to shake the crown off, but he’s held steady by the chin. There’s a pause, and Taeyong knows that Doyoung would let him go if he asked him to, but he freezes in place instead.

Doyoung looks down on Taeyong with sharp eyes and decides it’s not worth giving him a verbal response, instead kissing him hard enough to shock a grunt out of him. He forces Taeyong’s mouth to move against his with controlling pushes and Taeyong can only gasp every time they part. He steals Taeyong’s breath in kiss after kiss until Taeyong is grabbing at his arms, then he dwindles into a gentle, lazy slide of slick lips dragging together so slowly they can hear every wet sound of their tongues licking into each other’s mouths.

Finally, Taeyong lets out a moan.

Doyoung’s big mouth often gets him into trouble, but one thing he knows it’s good for is kissing, and he especially knows how Taeyong likes it. He brings his hands to Taeyong’s hips and guides them to his thigh, and Taeyong immediately rolls down against it in even, back and forth motions. He grinds on Doyoung's leg as Doyoung kisses him dizzyingly slow, the noise of fabric rubbing together barely audible over Taeyong's heavy panting. Doyoung swallows every whine that Taeyong can’t hold back, coaxing them out of him with seemingly sweet and attentive pecks. It's not long before Taeyong is hard and straining against his shorts, faint wet spot staining the cotton. Doyoung breaks the kiss and Taeyong chases his lips, but Doyoung holds him back by the shoulders. He drops to his knees and Taeyong frowns.

“What game are you playing?” Taeyong mutters.

Doyoung smiles at him. “It’s not a game,” he says as he pulls on the drawstring of Taeyong’s shorts. He slips his fingers under their hem and slides them down slim hips, revealing that Taeyong hadn’t bothered with underwear. “It’s a demonstration.” He lets the shorts drop to the floor and reaches a hand up to stroke Taeyong’s cock lightly.

“I’m showing you that you’re weak.”

Before Taeyong can protest, Doyoung mouths along his dick, pressing his tongue to the underside of his shaft and dragging it upwards with a quiet hum. He flicks his tongue around the head in quick circles then licks back down the shaft until he feels Taeyong grow heavier in his hand and hears his breathing waver.

Taeyong looks down at Doyoung and the crown finally slips from his hair and lands on the floor. Doyoung pulls off of Taeyong's cock and wraps a firm hand around it.

“Put it back on,” he orders, picking the crown up. He twists his wrist and fists Taeyong, making him gasp and groan. “Don’t stop playing pretend on account of me.”

Taeyong takes the crown with shaky hands and places it back on his head. Doyoung smiles sweetly.

“Very good.”

Doyoung suddenly takes Taeyong completely in his mouth and swallows against the cockhead nudging the back of his throat. Taeyong moans brokenly, eyelids fluttering and head falling back against the wall. Doyoung takes his time blowing Taeyong, bobbing his head at an even pace and jerking him steadily. He sucks loudly when he comes up to swallow the spit dripping down Taeyong’s cock and presses the flat of his tongue against his tip in slow, steady licks. Above him, Taeyong is moaning on every breath, eyes shut tight. A round of successive deep throating has him chewing at his lip and whimpering while his fingers tangle in Doyoung’s hair. His thighs quiver at teasingly light suckles to his tip and gentle rubbing at his balls. When Doyoung finally leans back, a translucent trail hangs between his mouth and Taeyong’s slit before breaking and landing on his chin. He strokes Taeyong lazily, hand sliding along his length with loud, wet noises.

He begins to kiss along Taeyong’s hip. “Do you want to come?” he asks, words ghosting over Taeyong’s sweaty skin. His tongue presses into the dip above Taeyong’s thigh as he flicks his wrist mid-stroke, urging a strangled moan from Taeyong’s throat. He glances up and sees Taeyong nodding. He drags his lips along Taeyong’s shaft. “Refuse the job,” he says.

Taeyong lets out an unsteady sigh and loosens his grip on Doyoung’s hair. “You’re manipulating me,” he murmurs.

Doyoung’s eyes flash in a sympathetic break of character for a moment before he kisses Taeyong’s tip and says, “I’m bringing you to your senses.” He stands, Taeyong’s hands falling from his hair at the sudden movement, and pulls Taeyong towards the bed. He has to hide a smirk when he notices Taeyong hold his crown in place as they trip over their feet and land on the lumpy mattress. The paper gets jostled when Taeyong's head hits a pillow, but Doyoung doesn’t bother giving him any orders before kissing him again, sloppy and fast. Taeyong grips all over Doyoung at once, hands moving from his neck to his shoulders to his cheeks, body overwhelmed as he tries to keep up with Doyoung’s tongue nearly choking him. The kiss doesn’t last long, Taeyong whining when Doyoung moves downwards, but Doyoung pushes his T-shirt up to his collar bones and takes a nipple into his mouth and Taeyong keens. Doyoung lets out a hot breath, lips parted wide as his tongue toys with the pink nub, circling and flicking against it in quick bursts. He closes his mouth around it and drags his fingers over the other nipple, and soon Taeyong is squirming beneath him.

“Come on,” Taeyong huffs out quietly, rolling his bare hips up against Doyoung’s school blazer. He’s hot, wearing this many clothes, but Doyoung rather likes the blatant display of his younger age.

He kisses Taeyong’s chest then pulls off with a smile. “Are you expecting me to fuck you?” he asks before switching his mouth to the next nipple. “Bosses don’t get to beg.” He bites down gently and Taeyong cries out in a breathy whine. “It’s not as fulfilling as you want it to be.”

Taeyong tries to sit up but Doyoung’s eyes snap towards him as soon as the crown is left behind on the pillow.

“What did I say?” he asks, voice low, mouth leaving Taeyong’s torso. He clicks his tongue. “If you can’t even follow directions _now_ …” He pulls Taeyong with just enough strength to turn him over, forcing him onto all fours, shirt bunching at Taeyong’s shoulders. He runs a hand over Taeyong’s ass soothingly before bringing his arm back and smacking his palm down in a quick, stinging slap. Taeyong lurches forward with a sharp gasp, gripping the sheets beneath him. Doyoung rubs the reddening skin, then spanks him again. Taeyong’s head drops, but only for a second because Doyoung yanks him up by the hair. “I thought you didn't need to prove yourself?” he says. “Where's your dedication to the job?”

Taeyong groans quietly when Doyoung releases his hair and obediently puts the crown back on. He holds his head up and doesn’t let it droop even when Doyoung kisses his ass cheek before slapping it, but when he feels a tongue lick a slow stripe up over his hole, he gasps and jerks forward again. He fights the urge to fall to his elbows and press himself into a pillow as Doyoung drags his tongue in circles around his entrance and down over his perineum, teasingly avoiding penetration. This goes on for too long, Doyoung lightly stimulating his nerves but never quite giving him what he wants, until finally he pushes his tongue inside Taeyong and presses his lips around his hole. Taeyong whimpers and pushes back against Doyoung’s face as Doyoung eats him out with loud slurps and calculated hums.

 _“Fuck,”_ Taeyong breathes, rolling his hips in slow circles.

Doyoung pulls his tongue out and rubs a thumb over Taeyong’s hole. “Isn’t this better?” he asks with faux sweetness. “Submission? Taking orders instead of worrying about giving them?” He licks Taeyong one more time before sliding off the bed, and Taeyong’s eyebrows furrow at the loss of body heat and attention. Doyoung easily finds the lube stashed in a bedside table drawer and makes sure to pop the cap open loudly. Taeyong tenses in anticipation.

“So you are going to fuck me,” he scoffs.

“Not how you want it,” Doyoung says, pouring lube onto his fingers as he sits back on the bed. He touches his fingers to Taeyong’s ass and spreads the substance around. “You should get used to things not going your way. Subordinates can be fickle.”

He begins to nudge his middle finger inside in a slow and sure pace, pinky reaching down to rub at Taeyong’s perineum. Taeyong’s breath catches in his throat as he tries to keep his body relaxed. Soon Doyoung’s finger is knuckle-deep and he gives a few experimental movements before pulling out halfway and pushing back in. Taeyong bites at his lip and whimpers at every quickening thrust and spreads his legs wider in a silent plea to get him off. Doyoung knows Taeyong’s body well enough and soon he quirks his finger and brushes against his prostate. Taeyong moans loudly, but then Doyoung pulls out completely. He brings his tongue back, which feels good, but his tongue can’t reach the spot Taeyong so desperately wants him to reach and he whines.

Doyoung spanks him and Taeyong groans. “Leaders don’t whine,” he breathes, tongue moving to one side as he inserts his middle finger again. He works another finger alongside it and pumps them both in and out while licking along the sensitive rim. Soon Taeyong is loose enough for Doyoung to fuck into him faster, lube and spit squelching with the pushes and twists of his wrist. Taeyong is shaking, mouth hanging open as he moans on every thrust, and his whole body twitches whenever Doyoung ghosts over his prostate. Doyoung finally brings his free hand to Taeyong’s dick and Taeyong can’t resist anymore.

“Please,” he gasps, unable to keep his body up. His crown falls and his head soon crashes to a pillow next to it. “Please, _more._ ”

Doyoung stills his hands and presses his fingers right over Taeyong’s prostate, massaging it slowly. “Do you see now, hyung?” he asks, voice gentle, mouthing along an ass cheek. “This is how it should be.” He massages harder and Taeyong’s arms give out with a strangled moan. Doyoung leans over his back and further presses Taeyong’s chest into the mattress. “Let’s face it,” he murmurs. “You can’t control a gang.” He begins to palm at the head of Taeyong’s cock too, and Taeyong is whimpering and writhing against him. “You can’t even control a high school loser.”

Taeyong reaches blindly to the side and grabs the crown, paper crinkling from his desperate grip, and throws it to the ground. He braces himself on his pillow and gives up.

Doyoung smiles and kisses Taeyong’s back between his shoulder blades before ramming his fingers into him and jerking his cock, quick and dirty and victorious. Taeyong fucks back against him now, all restraint and resistance gone from his body. He cries out as Doyoung adds a third finger and stretches him deliciously more.

“Fuck me,” he begs, eyes watering from the tension. “ _Really_ fuck me.”

“No,” Doyoung says, biting against the back of Taeyong’s neck, and Taeyong shouts. “Remember this. Remember where your place is.” He then kisses the red teeth marks and focuses on getting Taeyong off after tormenting him for so long.

Lewd, wet noises fill the room as he fingerfucks Taeyong’s ass and fists his cock and all Taeyong can do is push into the touches and sob into his pillow. Doyoung feels Taeyong’s body growing taut so he flips him back over and crashes their lips together as he works Taeyong towards his release. Taeyong grabs at Doyoung’s face and moans into the heated kiss, legs to his chest and toes curling. His back arches as pleasure takes over his body and builds in the pit of his stomach, then with a few more cock jerks and presses to his prostate, he’s coming onto his abdomen, shaking and crying into Doyoung’s mouth. Doyoung slows his hands gradually, helping Taeyong come down from his orgasm, and his kisses turn soft and gentle. When he removes his fingers, Taeyong shudders lightly.

They only look at each other for a while, Doyoung stroking sweaty hair from Taeyong’s face, then Taeyong glances down at the obvious erection straining against Doyoung’s slacks.

“I’ll do it,” Doyoung says before Taeyong can offer. He kisses Taeyong again as he undoes his pants and pulls his dick out, stroking himself quickly. Taeyong plants lethargic kisses against Doyoung’s lips and sighs quietly when Doyoung licks against his tongue and moans into his mouth. It doesn’t take Doyoung long to come onto Taeyong’s flushed chest with a stuttering groan muffled by kisses.

Once he catches his breath, Doyoung finally shucks his school blazer off and tosses it aside and decides to rid himself of his pants as well before peeling Taeyong's damp shirt off of him. He goes to the bathroom for tissues and a towel and comes back to a tired, worn out Taeyong, but it’s finally a Taeyong he knows and loves. Through the exhaustion on his face, there’s gentleness and vulnerability. His hard exterior has shattered and all that’s left is what Taeyong knows to be his true self, but what he thinks is weak and not enough, and so he hides it away. Doyoung crawls onto the bed and kisses Taeyong’s cheek, then holds Taeyong’s hand and presses his lips to his pink Hello Kitty band-aid.

“What you’re doing now is enough,” he says quietly. Taeyong looks at him, unconvinced, so Doyoung pecks his lips while wiping the cum from his body. “I told you a thousand times that we’ll be okay. I’m graduating soon. My family’s not rich but my parents will give me some money. I’ll find a job. You have a job. One day we’ll get you out of here and buy a nice place on the beach, just like we used to dream about.” He presses their foreheads together. “You never have to go back to that world - those people - ever again. We’ll be okay. Please believe me.”

Taeyong no longer has it in him to stubbornly fight back - to shoulder the responsibilities of looking out for the both of them when it was never just his burden alone. He isn’t as strong as he wishes he could be, and he’s always known that. He just didn’t realize how much Doyoung had grown into someone who could share half of life’s hardships with him. Consciously, at least. Part of him was begging for this - for Doyoung to talk him out of something that could kill him - when he let Doyoung start this game in the first place.

“Alright,” he whispers. He wraps his arms around Doyoung’s neck in a tight hug, turning his head to rest a cheek on Doyoung’s shoulder, and on the ground he spots the paper crown. When they were younger, they thought the handmade accessory was a prized possession that could dictate an almighty leader with the power to rule anyone he wanted for whatever reason he wanted. Now, it’s just a wrinkled piece of trash - meaningless and representative of nothing in the complicated real world. Doyoung pulls back to throw away the used tissues and Taeyong stares at his broad shoulders and matured face.

“You should shower again,” Doyoung says gently, carefully urging Taeyong out of bed. Taeyong lets himself be guided into the bathroom and Doyoung turns on the water for him before returning to the bedroom to pick up their clothes. He places his blazer around the back of a chair and folds his pants over it, then tosses Taeyong’s T-shirt in the laundry basket and picks out a fresh one, setting it and his shorts on the bed for him.

He looks at the door - the shower is still on. He goes into the living room and finds Taeyong’s phone sitting on the coffee table, where he’d left it after the meeting, and unlocks it without a hitch. Taeyong only has a small circle of people in his life, so it isn’t hard for Doyoung to pick out the three unfamiliar names in his contacts. He opens a group text with all of them.

 _‘I don’t think I’m good for what you’re looking for,’_ he writes. _‘Sorry for wasting your time.’_

Doyoung couldn’t care less about being civil to underlings like these, but for Taeyong’s safety, he refrains from just telling them to fuck off. He sends the message and immediately blocks the phone numbers. He deletes the thread and all three contacts, then places Taeyong’s phone back where it was before.

“I know what’s best for you,” he says soothingly, staring at the black device. He reaches down and grabs a roll of kimbap and pops it into his mouth.

Then, from the shower, Taeyong calls, “Shit-- Doyoung, I’m out of soap.”

Doyoung swallows his bite and heads to a small closet in the hallway with extra household supplies. “I’ll handle it,” he says back. He finds a bar of body soap and begins to unbutton his shirt as he faces the bathroom. He smiles to himself. “I’ll always handle it.”

**Author's Note:**

> honestly i just wanted to write about doyoung teasing taeyong for wanting to be a leader of a gang ([x](https://twitter.com/negibun/status/996643744739770369)) but then it got Too Deep so here we... are... i kind of wish that i stuck with my original idea since that would have been more lighthearted and entertaining, but i love always-lowkey-in-control-doyoung so i'm not totally disappointed! also what is smut.
> 
> this fic is a bit different from what i'd usually write but i hope it's enjoyed all the same. comments and kudos are much appreciated~  
>   
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/negibun)  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/negibun)  
>   
>   
> some questions that have been asked about this universe!  
>   
> does doyoung have romantic feelings? [x](https://curiouscat.me/negibun/post/669255923)  
> what if taeyong loved someone else? [x](https://curiouscat.me/negibun/post/669276230)  
> happily ever after? [x](https://curiouscat.me/negibun/post/669292100)  
> dotae's origins + future - [x](https://curiouscat.me/negibun/post/773423094)  
>   
>   
> check out this lovely edit by [10softbot](https://twitter.com/10softbot/status/1092315224282062849)!


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